


Stranded

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Shenanigans, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: “Keith,”Shiro repeats, more urgent, his voice shaking along with the rest of him. He doesn’t know if it’s from pain, shock, fear, or a terrible cocktail of all three. Hedoesknow that Keith is Galra.Keith lets go of him. “What?” he asks, brow lowering and eyes wide. “Why are you looking at me like that?”He doesn’t know.Shiro sucks in a sharp breath.Keith is Galra, and he doesn’t know.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 978





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece I've been sitting on for a while; I wasn't quite happy with it and kept trying to tweak it until finally I felt okay enough to post it - and also just needed to finally post it :'D One of my favorite episodes is "Across the Universe," and though I rarely write anything directly off of canon, ever since I first saw it I wanted to write a canon divergent take on the episode where Keith & Shiro get stranded for a much longer time together...and of course there's also pining and Galra reveal drama. Of course.
> 
> So, here's that! It's a bit different than my usual stuff (read: more concise, for once), but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I also collabed with the lovely @crushmeshiro/Ser whose beautiful art is featured here, please give Ser all the love on the [original post here](https://twitter.com/crushmeshiro/status/1212613078766014465)!! Feral Galra Keith LIVES & i love him & his sharp teef. huge thank you to ser for all the support & kindness <3 pls check out their art, it's stunning.
> 
> Last but definitely not least, endless thanks to [@belovedsheith/Mei](https://twitter.com/belovedsheith?lang=en) for bein a star beta & making me smile.

The Black Lion crashes into the surface of the barren planet, and in the aftermath, as Shiro drags his wounded body out of the smoking wreckage and onto cold rock, he listens with dazed, dull defeat to the static crackle of silence in his helmet. 

For a long, terrible moment Shiro thinks, _I’m alone._

For a longer, far more terrible moment after that, Shiro thinks, _Keith died in the crash._

He takes a third moment to press his head to the ground, to calm himself despite the agony coursing through his abdomen where the witch struck him. Then he licks his dry lips, sits up with a groan, and whispers into the open comm, “Keith? Can you hear me?”

He counts his breaths in the nerve-wracking interim. One. Two. Three. Four. Five —

_“ — iro?!”_

Shiro would fall to his knees in relief, but he’s already on the ground.

“Keith,” he gasps, “yes, Keith, I’m here, where are you?”

 _“Shiro!”_ Keith sounds out of breath, but not in pain, thankfully. _“I’m — some kind of crater, um, I can’t see you, the Red Lion’s busted, she’s not responding —”_

“Keith,” Shiro rasps. “Keith, hey, calm down.”

Keith is quiet. Then, _“You don’t sound so good. Shiro, where are you?”_

Shiro leans his head back against the rock. “A really steep ravine,” he mumbles. “Don’t...don’t you have a location on me? Is your navigator working?”

There’s some cursing and stomping from Keith’s end, then a sigh of pure relief. _“Yeah,”_ Keith whispers. _“I’ve got you, Shiro. Sit tight, okay? I’ll come to you.”_

Shiro nods before realizing Keith can’t see him. Man, his head hurts. And the wound on his side... _hurt_ isn’t even the right word for it. Shiro grits his teeth. “Great,” he manages. “I’ll be...here...”

Keith must hear the hitch in his breath, because he shoots back an immediate, _“What? What is it?”_

“Um,” Shiro whispers, “looks like I have a welcoming party.”

The welcoming party doesn’t look very welcoming, considering they’re some kind of predatory space lizard about four feet tall at the shoulder, with long, jagged teeth and clawed paws. To make matters worse, they’re sniffing around the Black Lion, making awful hissing noises and scratching at the busted metal with hungry growls. 

Before Keith can reply, Shiro closes his comm channel. It’s too loud. Shiro can’t risk them finding him — he’s in no position to get away, and he’s not confident that he can fight them all off with his arm like this. Even lifting it up sends shooting pain through his abdomen. Gritting his teeth, Shiro army-crawls along the rocky earth away from them, finally spotting an outcropping he might be able to haul himself up onto. It’s a longshot, considering he feels about thirty seconds from passing out, but he’s gotta try.

It isn’t his most graceful climb, but he makes it, slowly but surely, ending up hunched over in the rock crevice, covered in sweat and the omnipresent gray dust of this so far inhospitable planet. He turns his comm back on and whispers, “Okay, don’t panic, and stay quiet —”

_“SHIRO!”_

Shiro winces. Ten pairs of glowing green eyes turn to face him. “Thanks a lot, Keith,” Shiro croaks as they make a mad dash for him, scrabbling and snarling at the rocks before realizing their lunging isn’t working, after which point they begin to circle in the most menacing way possible. Shiro sighs. Well, this wasn’t in his top ten ways to die, but it’s not a boring way to go, at least.

 _“Shiro...? What was that?”_ Keith decides to whisper now. Helpful. _“I — I’m sorry if I yelled in your ear, your comm went silent. I thought —”_ He swallows audibly, and Shiro feels even shittier.

“Oh, fuck, that’s not — Keith, I’m fine. Well, mostly. I’m out of reach for now, but these aliens look pretty hungry...”

Keith swears. _“I’m almost there. Does your arm still work?”_

“Yes,” Shiro lies. “Uh-huh. But — how far away are you?”

Keith is quiet for a beat. _“There’s...a problem,”_ he says. _“I’m in front of a ravine. I can’t —”_ He sounds equal parts angry and miserable. _“I can’t cross it, Shiro. It’s too wide to jump.”_

Shiro closes his eyes. Okay. This is okay, he can do this. “Keith,” he murmurs, “you can do this.”

_“But, Shiro, I —”_

“Stop.”

Keith stops. His breathing is strange, like — like he’s about to cry.

Shiro exhales. “Remember what I taught you,” he says. “Patience yields focus. That’s what you need to do right now, Keith. Be still. Don’t panic. Don’t worry about me. Just think. Focus. You can get over that ravine — I know you can. The only question is _how_ you do it.”

 _“Okay,”_ Keith whispers, and then a little stronger, _“okay. I…”_

Shiro waits with all the patience of a dying man. The growls are getting closer — or just louder, hungrier.

Then there’s a strange whoosh of air, the faint howl of wind and a series of grunts and scraping sounds and — _“I’m over. I did it.”_

Shiro smiles, slumping into the rock. “Of course you did.”

_“I see you — ! Oh, shit. Shit, Shiro, there’s so many of them —”_

Shiro cranes his neck, trying to catch a glimpse. “I know, but we’ll figure something out —”

The largest of the aliens makes a lunge for Shiro’s leg, and it finds its mark. Shiro’s sentence is cut off in a scream as its teeth sink into his left calf, crumpling the armor as it shakes his leg like a ragdoll, doing its best to break every bone in there. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees Keith hurl himself over the edge of the ravine, propelled and saved from certain death by his suit’s jetpack. That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is that Keith’s eyes are glowing gold when he rips his helmet off and hurls it at the nearest alien. 

A trick of the light, Shiro thinks. He’s seeing things, he hit his head when he crashed — because then Keith hurls himself at the stunned alien and slices it across the muzzle with his claws. They burst through his suit in shining black points, as do the fangs in his mouth, which make an appearance as another alien leaps at Keith, stopped short by his snarl and bared teeth. The alien hisses, but not to threaten — it’s terrified. So is Shiro.

Because — Keith’s skin is splotching with purple, a spreading stain that cannot seem to stop. His ears lengthen to violet points, flattening into his hair as he lunges for the alien biting Shiro, the other ones scrambling away from him. Keith activates his bayard and plunges the sword into the alien’s back. Shiro feels the moment its jaws go slack before it collapses to the ground with a whine and a dying yelp when Keith yanks the sword out. His expression is feral, eyes slitted and teeth bared in a crazed half-grin. His fingers — his _claws_ — are dripping with blood.

Shiro presses himself back against the rocks, breathing hard and covering his wound with shaky hands. Part of him is afraid Keith will attack if he smells blood, like a damn shark. The other part of him is afraid not for himself, but for Keith. For what this means.

Keith’s hands close around Shiro’s leg. He holds still. “Keith,” Shiro rasps. “You…”

Keith makes a weird, high croon in the back of his throat as he examines the damage, head tilted. “It got you bad,” he says. His voice sounds different, too — lower, growling. Shiro winces when Keith tries to pry the armor off, and Keith looks up at him. Their eyes meet, Keith’s transformation now impossible to ignore.

 _“Keith,”_ Shiro repeats, more urgent, his voice shaking along with the rest of him. He doesn’t know if it’s from pain, shock, fear, or a terrible cocktail of all three. He does know that Keith is Galra. 

Keith lets go of him. “What?” he asks, brow lowering and eyes wide. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 _He doesn’t know._ Shiro sucks in a sharp breath. _Keith is Galra, and he doesn’t know._

He forces a weak smile. “You’re, uh,” he gestures with his left hand, “you have claws. That’s new.”

Keith looks down at his own hands with a kind of detached horror. “Oh,” he says, and Shiro watches his hands start to shake, curl into fists that fall limp at his sides. _“No._ How...”

Shiro reaches out, heart racing. Keith’s ears flick back; his teeth are bared and Shiro doesn’t know if he’s even aware of it. “Keith, it’s all right —”

 _“Shut up!”_ Keith’s voice echoes through the ravine. It’s strident and frightened and shakes Shiro to his core. Keith ducks his head, shoulders shaking. “Sorry, I — I don’t know why I...”

“It’s okay,” Shiro repeats, softer. “But, hey, Keith?”

Keith looks up, face pale and uncertain. 

“I’m about to pass out,” Shiro says, and does.

*

Shiro wakes in a blurry series of dark vignettes. Each one features Keith’s face, wan and worried, staring down at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Shiro,” he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Shiro opens his mouth, tries to ask why _Keith_ is _sorry,_ tries to tell him he has _nothing_ to be sorry for, nothing at all — but his words are choked by blood, and Keith’s face turns stricken, and Shiro is sorry for trying to say anything at all. He tries to tell Keith with his eyes instead, but too soon he slips back into the shadowy space between dreams and death, and does not wake for a long time afterwards.

*

He dreams he is the Champion again. Deep down, Shiro knows he never stopped being the Champion. He will always be the Champion, in the same way that he will always have lost his arm, no matter how many prostheses try to replace it. But here, it doesn’t feel like a loss. Here, gladiator sword in hand and blood on his knuckles, it feels like victory. Like power. He wins yet again, and the crowd goes wild. Red pools at his feet. He doesn’t look.

There’s another opponent entering the arena. Shiro doesn’t recognize them at first. They wear a hood, dark hair curling out from under it. Shiro grits his teeth and raises his dripping sword. They lift their head, and he freezes. Almost drops the sword, his grip on it growing shaky and weak as he whispers, “Keith?”

Keith smiles, all sharp teeth, his eyes glowing, skin splotching more and more violet the closer he gets. “That’s right. Didn’t you miss me, Takashi?”

Shiro stumbles back, heart in his throat. “No,” he breathes, “you’re supposed to be on Earth, you’re supposed to be safe —”

Keith’s smile narrows into a vicious sneer. “I was supposed to be human, too,” he hisses, and lunges with claws outstretched, slashing at the wound in Shiro’s side, Haggar’s laughter echoing in his ears as he jolts awake with a strangled shout of Keith’s name.

He doesn’t recognize his surroundings at first and fights against the hands holding him down, gasping in air before Keith’s face focuses in his field of vision, and Shiro sinks back down slowly. Keith looks terrified, but his irises glow gold in the darkness surrounding them, and Shiro takes another shaky breath. It wasn’t _all_ a dream, then. 

“You were dreaming,” Keith whispers. He lets go of Shiro, backs off, curling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs, self-soothing. 

“A nightmare,” Shiro breathes. His leg hurts and so does his side, but it’s bearable pain — far more bearable than the sight of Keith in the arena with him. 

Keith winces and looks away. “About me?”

Shiro blinks at him. The air between them is thick, rippling with tension as Shiro coaxes his exhausted body to sit up. He leans back against cool metal, realizing they must be in the Black Lion’s cockpit, but barely recognizing it — everything is dark and silent, deadened. 

“You were in it,” Shiro tells him. Keith’s brow lowers. “But I wasn’t — scared _of_ you.”

Keith swallows, the pale bob of his throat bright in the gloom. “You don’t have to lie to me, Shiro,” he whispers. His voice shakes, and so does he. “I heard the way you said my name.”

Shiro looks at him, helpless. Keith’s claws seem to be gone, but his pointed ears, yellow eyes, and the quick glint of sharp teeth remain. There’s a violet smudge high on his cheekbone. If Shiro uses his imagination, it could be a bruise.

But he doesn’t want to imagine Keith getting hurt.

“I was scared _for_ you,” Shiro offers. 

Keith snorts. “Sure, Shiro.”

Shiro shakes his head, his own hands starting to tremble as the pain in his body and the panic of the dream catches up with him. “I mean it,” he snaps, and Keith looks up. “I was — I was a prisoner again, and you were there — and I think — I thought they _hurt you —”_

Keith’s eyes widen. “Shiro — I —”

“I could never be afraid of you,” Shiro gasps, words catching on a sob. “I was afraid of what — what they’d done to you.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, and crawls to him, across the cold floor, reaching out uncertainly. “They didn’t — I’m okay. Okay? Are you —”

“Come here,” Shiro begs. “Please, come here, Keith. I need...”

He can’t say it, but Keith knows. He always does, and when he hesitantly lays beside Shiro to wrap his arms around him, Shiro goes limp in relief. He presses his head to Keith’s shoulder, and Keith makes a high, startled noise. 

It’s only then that Shiro notices his armor has been stripped, as well as the top of his undersuit, which is pushed down to his waist. It makes sense — Keith had to reach his wounds and bandage them somehow — but Shiro still flushes and stiffens at the feeling of his bare, scarred chest pressed to Keith’s undersuit, the fabric warm, his body warmer. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says again, soft and secret, and Shiro forgets about various states of undress and wraps his left arm around Keith firmly, squeezing him until he makes another sound and stops apologizing. He goes very still against Shiro, his breathing harsh and shallow, but does not protest their proximity.

“Unless you somehow caused the wormhole to malfunction and our Lions to crash on this shitty planet,” Shiro murmurs, “you have nothing to be sorry for, Keith.”

“I yelled into your comm,” Keith mutters. “Those lizard aliens attacked you because of me.”

“No,” Shiro sighs. “They attacked me because they were hungry. I should have told you before closing my channel like that. We both tend to assume the worst — if you had done the same thing, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

Keith lifts his head. “You would have done a better job of coming to the rescue than me. I know that much.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Would I? I don’t know, Keith. I could barely walk. It’s a good thing you weren’t the one stuck with those things, because I’m not sure...if I could have gotten there in time to save you...” He breaks off with a shudder as another spasm wracks his body. 

“We’re together now,” Keith says firmly. “You’re alive, and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah, but for how much longer? My chances don’t feel great, unless I’m secretly part super-fast-healing alien,” Shiro sighs, giving him a weak smile. 

Keith doesn’t smile back. His grip on Shiro loosens and he ducks his head. “It wasn’t a secret,” he says. “I wouldn’t have kept something like that from you.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Shiro assures. “But...you really had no idea?”

Keith gulps, closes his eyes. “Since we became paladins, I’ve had...dreams about the Galra,” he admits. “Bad ones. And during the battle with Zarkon...he said I fought like a Galra soldier. I didn’t want to believe it, but.” He exhales. “Guess it’s true.”

Shiro shakes his head. “I can’t believe you tried to take on Zarkon. You could have been killed.”

“Yeah.” Keith opens his eyes and looks up at him, almost shy. “But you got me out of there. Thanks, by the way.”

Shiro huffs and hugs him tighter. “I wasn’t about to let him take the best Red Paladin I know away from us.”

Keith’s lips part. “The best? Wow.”

Shiro smiles, and this time Keith returns it. It fades a few seconds later though when Keith adds, “The Lions are both offline — don’t know when they’ll be back to normal. We may be stranded here awhile. You should rest. I’ll go out when it gets light, try to get the lay of the land a little better, maybe even find some breakfast...”

Shiro doesn’t hear the rest of his words, not really. He’s too focused on Keith’s face, in the long shadow of his lashes, the strangely delicate curve of his nose and lips, the luminescence of his eyes. Shiro knows he wouldn’t care if Keith was full Galra, Arusian, Martian, whatever — he’s still the Keith that Shiro loves more than anything in the Universe. At the thought, his heart hurts, but he knows it’s true. 

“Thanks for saving me,” Shiro says. 

Keith pauses, a line between his brows. “You'd have done the same for me...how's your wound?”

“My wound's great. It's getting bigger as we speak,” Shiro chuckles. Keith’s gaze darts down to where the violet burn is spreading over his ribs, interlaced with the sickly glow of the Druids’ quintessence, and blanches. Shiro bites his lip. “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Keith frowns at him, his mood clearly not lightened. “Hang in there. When Allura and Coran find us, they'll fix you right up.”

 _When_ they find us...or _if?_

If he doesn’t say it now, he might never get the chance to. He takes a deep breath. “Keith, if I don't make it out of here...I want you to lead Voltron.”

Keith’s face goes through the seven stages of grief in a second before settling somewhere between anger and denial. “Stop talking like that. You're gonna make it.”

Shiro lets go of Keith and rolls onto his back with a low groan, his leg numb and his side aching. “Keith, we both know I’ve never been much of an optimist, but let’s be realistic here —”

“You were, with me.”

Shiro turns his head to blink up at him. “Huh?”

“You were an optimist, with me,” Keith says, tone unwavering. “Everyone else gave up on me, but not you. You saw the good in me when no one else would. So you’re wrong if you think I’m going to let you die here, Shiro. That’s out of the question.” He sits up, jaw set. Shiro gapes at him, at a loss for words. Keith continues briskly, “I did what I could for your leg, and I don’t think it’s broken, but the other wound, the glowing one…” Keith meets his eyes, troubled. “Haggar?”

Shiro nods. “She hit me with something. May have missed my vitals, but Keith...she wanted me dead.”

“I don’t care what she wanted,” Keith mutters, “it’s not going to happen on my watch. I’m gonna leave now; we don’t have time to wait for dawn. Sit tight, okay?” He gets to his feet. Shiro tries to follow, feeling helpless on the floor alone, but his leg gives out and he slumps back down with a pained grunt. Keith kneels down beside him. “Hey. I’ll be back. I’m gonna take care of you, Shiro. Trust me?”

Shiro searches his eyes. _I love you,_ he thinks, knowing that to say it aloud would be an ultimatum neither of them needs right now, or ever. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah, of course. But — come back. Be careful, please.”

Keith’s face softens. He touches Shiro’s face, so quick Shiro isn’t sure he didn’t imagine it, before standing again. “I will be,” he says. “Promise.”

*

Shiro sleeps uneasily, tossing and turning in the makeshift bed Keith made for him, a tangle of spare undersuits and a blanket that must be Keith’s, because it smells like him. Shiro hates that he knows that from a single sniff, but his growing worry for Keith’s safety distracts him from his own creepiness when Keith doesn’t return after what feels like hours.

There isn’t much Shiro can do except run through terrible scenarios in his head and repeatedly try (and fail) to connect to the Black Lion. She’s silent, and though Shiro tells himself it would take more than a fall from the upper atmosphere and crashing into a canyon at about twenty-five meters per second squared to get rid of the head of Voltron...well, he’s never been an optimist.

When Keith does return, it’s brighter outside — this planet, or moon, seems to stay at a near-constant dusk-level of illumination, a dull orange that halos Keith as he climbs back up into the cockpit. Shiro stirs drowsily, at first certain it must be a dream. Keith looks so beautiful — how can someone like that be real?

“I’m real,” Keith chuckles, and Shiro’s ears burn...though he thinks he only said the last part aloud, because Keith isn’t stuttering through the sentence or glaring at him. “I found breakfast, and, better yet — water.”

“Good work, Keith.” Shiro yawns, forcing himself upright. “What’s for breakfast?”

Keith grins and hands him a slab of dark red meat, wrapped in some kind of brown leaf. “Revenge,” he says, and takes a bite of his own slab. “It’s pretty tasty.”

Shiro grins so hard his face hurts. “I’m so glad I’m stuck here with you,” he sighs, and tells himself Keith’s face is just red from exertion.

*

The days pass, and the Lions remain silent, but they try to make the most of it.

Keith tells him he thinks they’re stranded on a moon, considering half the sky is a nearby planet and the days and nights feel much shorter than on Earth. Luckily, it is a habitable moon, and they don’t run into any more of the aggressive alien creatures — Shiro thinks Keith scared them off for good, and he doesn’t blame them. The only other creatures there are some strange bony fish in the round spring-fed pools which dot the surface, and large white birds of some kind which call hauntingly to each other in the night.

Shiro manages to stumble out of the Black Lion about a week after they crash, and when Keith helps him out, they both let out a victory woop and exchange tired smiles. Their relief dissolves that evening when Shiro is gripped by the worst pain yet and the glowing wound flares to near-blinding levels. Shiro is too weak to go back into the Lion, so Keith guards him all night, and when Shiro wakes up he finds Keith curled at his side, pointed ears twitching and alert even in sleep.

That day, they go to one of the pools to clean the wound properly — Keith is worried about infection, and Shiro is worried about hygiene (they’re both filthy from the crash). Either way, the cool water feels good, and lo and behold, as it washes over his side, the glow starts to fade. Shiro leans back against the rocks, marveling as the pain ebbs away, and Keith watches with excitement. “Well,” Shiro said slowly, “maybe we weren’t so unlucky after all — I think we found a moon with mysterious healing water.”

“Not so mysterious — more like _magical,_ Shiro, look!” Keith squeaks, pointing as the air around them fills with what looks like hundreds of fireflies, but upon closer inspection, they’re just fragments of glowing golden light, like...quintessence. Each glowing orb lifts from the water itself, drifting inquisitively towards them. As the light finds Shiro’s wound, Keith reaches for his bayard, because of course he does, but Shiro lifts a hand. Something in his chest loosens, and bathed in the warmth of the lights, he feels, for the first time in a long time, at ease.

He's calm - really, truly calm, not the false calm of repressed panic and fear hardened and smoothed over into something resembling cool confidence. It's a good feeling, to stop pretending, to breathe easy, to let himself sink into the water with a sigh of pure relief. Keith watches, his hand slowly returning to rest at his side, his expression open and curious. Shiro wonders if Keith knows how much he's pretending to know what he's doing. Shiro thinks, of all the paladins, that if any of them know, it would be Keith. It's always been Keith.

They watch as the sickly glow of the wound is replaced by the radiance of a sunrise, settling over Shiro’s skin soft and warm. Then he feels the impossible — his wound starts to knit closed, the violet burn fading, and with it, the witch’s malevolent magic. 

It’s in that moment that Shiro knows, or rather decides, that everything is going to be okay.

“We’re gonna make it out of here, Keith,” he says.

Keith looks at him, his face illuminated by quintessence fireflies and by his own brilliant inner light, the one Shiro has seen in him since that very first day, so many years ago, in a crowded flight simulator.

“I know we will, Shiro,” Keith whispers. “I know, because you’re here with me.”

*

Unfortunately, their high morale does not make the Lions power up any faster. They make runs between the Red Lion and Black Lion daily, but both remain dark and quiet. Shiro minds less and less as the days turn into weeks and then months — or whatever the moon’s equivalent to a month is. 

Time is strange, here — but not in a bad way. Shiro spent so much of his life chained to a strict schedule, whether he was at the Garrison or in a Galran cell, but here...there is no schedule beyond the daily routine he and Keith have cobbled together. Most of the day, they explore the moon together. It helps Shiro regain his strength, and Keith is working on a map of the area. Shiro is continuously impressed by him.

“I didn’t know you were a master cartographer,” Shiro remarks, leaning over Keith’s shoulder as he stretches out on a warm rock behind him, indulging in a little sunbathing while they rest after hours of hiking. 

Keith snorts, shading in a mountain with the charcoal stick he made from their lunch fire. “I didn’t know you could grow a beard,” he retorts.

Shiro grins, pillowing his head on his forearm and scratching through thick stubble idly. “Heh, yeah. Do you like it?” Keith almost snaps the charcoal in half, and coughs so loudly he has to stop mapmaking. Shiro sits up. “Uh — you good, buddy?”

“Fine,” Keith wheezes. “Fuck. Yes. It looks. Good. On you. You look good.” He ducks his head.

Shiro studies him. They’ve been having more and more moments like this, lately. He tells himself it’s just awkwardness from the close quarters, but...deep down, it feels like something more. He doesn’t think he’s willing to risk being wrong about that, though — who knows how much longer they’ll be stuck here together?

Still, he wants to test the limits a little bit.

That’s what he tells himself when he reaches out to brush Keith’s hair away from the nape of his neck, where it’s grown out past his shoulders. “So do you,” he says, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin before retreating. Keith holds still, his back to Shiro, his breaths audible. Violet spots over where Shiro touched him. Shiro wonders if he’s aware of it. He wonders what it means: anxiety, or excitement?

“I was gonna cut it,” Keith says. His voice is low, uneven. “But — you like it?”

“Sure,” Shiro says, aiming for casual though his heart is pounding. “You could braid it. I think it would look nice.”

“Nice.” Keith clears his throat. “Okay, then. Thanks.”

*

The next day, Keith braids his hair after breakfast when it’s still wet from his bath. Shiro leaves his stubble be, and pretends not to watch Keith over the edge of his blade as he tidies up his undercut with Keith’s generously shared knife.

“What?” Keith demands when he’s halfway through. “Something on my face?”

“No,” Shiro says, and holds his gaze until the blood rises in Keith’s cheeks. “The braid suits you. I was right.”

Keith scratches the back of his neck and looks away. “You usually are,” he mutters.

Then it’s Shiro’s turn to blush.

*

It’s a warm night when Keith stumbles into their campsite after it was his turn to find dinner. He doesn’t seem to have dinner, but his arms are full of...fruit. Plump, shiny fruits that look vaguely like flamingo-pink and highlighter-yellow mangoes on steroids. 

At the first glimpse of Keith’s sweaty face and clumsy gait, Shiro hurries over, worried that the space lizards have returned for their own revenge. But although Keith’s eyes glow like little lanterns in the darkness, as they always do these days, his expression is open and smiling. Shiro relaxes, though he isn’t any less confused when Keith slurs, _“Shirooo,_ oh my god, I found the _best_ thing.”

Then it hits him, just as Keith drops his handful of fruits and they go rolling all over the rocks. “Keith,” he breathes, “are — are you _drunk?”_

“Uh-huh,” Keith giggles, and flops down on the nearest rock before deciding he’d rather be sitting. He sits cross-legged next to the rock like it’s a table, grabs the nearest fruit, and pats the stone next to him. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

Shiro sits, albeit hesitantly, and takes the fruit Keith offers him. It smells good, almost like cotton candy. It could be poisonous...though Keith looks more alive than ever. “So, you just kinda...punch it,” Keith says, and demonstrates by driving his fist into the fruit in one vicious strike. The fruit doesn’t stand a chance, and splits into almost perfect halves with a spray of neon pink juice. 

Some splatters onto Shiro’s face, and when he cautiously licks it away, it tastes like… “Malibu?” he exclaims in disbelief. 

Keith snorts. “Huh? What’s that? It’s space liquor, Shiro. And it’s _so good.”_ He sticks out his bottom lip, and...oh, god. Keith is _pouting_ at him. “Try it. C’mon. Pretty please. It’s no fun being the only drunk one. Unless —” Keith blanches. “Oh, shit. Do you even drink? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to peer pressure you —”

“Keith.” Shiro squeezes his shoulder. “It’s okay. I do drink, it’s just been...awhile. I’d love to drink space Malibu with you, though.”

Keith squints at him. “Do you mean, like, Malibu, California? We’re not in California, Shiro.”

“You’re right,” Shiro assures him. “Better sunsets.”

Keith beams at him. “Way better.” 

Shiro takes a sip of the juice while Keith watches, chin in hand. “It’s good,” Shiro offers. It’s better than good. It’s warm in his throat, almost burning, not quite. The warmth washes over him, settles in his core, and he finds himself mirroring Keith’s position, watching each other over the flat rock. 

Keith smiles, crooked and dopey. “What?”

“Can I say something sappy?” Shiro asks. Keith nods, brow furrowing. Shiro takes another drink, then another, for courage. “Maybe it’s selfish,” Shiro murmurs, “but I wouldn’t mind if it was just you and me here...y’know, forever.”

Keith purses his lips. “What about saving the Universe?”

Shiro takes another drink. He’s already floaty and tingly, and his filter is fizzling away as rapidly as his sobriety. “You’re my Universe,” he chuckles, and lays his head down on the rock, blinking stupidly at Keith as Keith goes wide-eyed.

“Oh,” Keith says. He picks up the fruit and downs the rest of it, wiping juice from his chin. “Uh. Wow. Yeah. You...too, dude.”

 _“Dude,”_ Shiro teases, and splashes some juice at him before drinking the rest of his and fumbling for another fruit. Keith shrieks at him, cackling and snatching the nearest fruit right out of his hands. Shiro makes another lunge for it, and they end up tumbling off the rock and down the slight slope, coming to a stop beside the campfire. Keith ends up on top of him, his bangs wet from juice, dripping down onto Shiro’s forehead. Shiro goes cross-eyed trying to look at him. 

“Should I not call you dude?” Keith asks, but it’s less of a question, more of a demand...and all the laughter in Shiro’s tipsy body leaves him, just like that. Keith’s eyes are dark, the glow of his irises faint, swallowed up in the firelight. His skin splotches violet again, sharp little claws dig into Shiro’s shirt, and when his lips part, Shiro sees fangs.

“You could call me Takashi,” Shiro offers, and feels the tremor that goes through Keith’s body, heavy over him. “Why don’t you?”

Keith bites his lip. “Seems...dunno, too personal. Like something you only use with family.”

Shiro exhales, and with his left hand, because he wants to feel Keith, skin to skin, he cups Keith’s face. “You _are_ family,” Shiro whispers, “to me.”

Keith jerks back, and Shiro’s gut twists like he’s been wounded all over again. “I’m sorry,” Keith gasps, scrambling away, something in his eyes dark and flat like a cornered animal, Shiro's face reflected in wide pupils like shards of silver. “I can’t…”

“Keith, hey…” Shiro edges closer, tentative, hands lifted in surrender. “I thought...I mean, you know you’re my best friend. Right?” Keith gives a small nod, his tense gaze wavering. “I would do anything for you,” Shiro says earnestly. “You mean so much to me. And...and that’s why I want to be honest with you, okay?”

Keith swallows, hard. He doesn’t look happy, anymore. He looks scared — terrified, even. “Okay,” he whispers, in the tiniest voice Shiro's ever heard from him. “What...what is it?”

Shiro’s heart hurts. But he needs to say it — for both of their sake.

“I’m in love with you, Keith,” he says. “I’ve loved you for a while. I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but I also think you should know how I feel, and if that changes things between us —”

Keith kisses him. More accurately, he slams into Shiro, sending them both tumbling back to the ground, grabs Shiro’s face with both hands, and mashes their mouths together with the force of two colliding black holes. “Mmphhnnghff,” Keith says, mid-kiss, claws tangled in Shiro’s hair.

Shiro pulls back with a gasp. “What?”

Keith is the cross-eyed one, then. “I love you too,” he says. “God. Fuck. So much. Can I kiss you again?”

“Wait,” Shiro says, holding him at arms’ length. “Yes, always, yes, but — can you call me Takashi? Just once?”

Keith nods, his expression dazed, unable to stop smiling. “I love you, Takashi,” he whispers, and Shiro swears everything is right in the world. “You’re like family to me, too.” Keith sniffles, his eyes shiny. “The best one I ever could’ve asked for.”

“Kiss me,” Shiro pleads, and Keith does, this time a little less like a collision, a little more like perfection. Campfire sparks swirl around them. Keith tastes like coconuts and sunshine, and Shiro never wants to let go.

They’re so in love with each other that neither notices the brightening lights in the sunset sky above — three roaring Lions of Voltron, reuniting with the rest of their pride at long last. 


End file.
